If I Had You Page 4

  Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and lean against the sink, scrolling through my Facebook news feed as I do every morning. I don’t exactly have many friends, so it’s mainly filled with my co-workers, and of course, Oliver. I stop at his post from last night shortly after I left, where it only says he’s “feeling sad.”

  As I haven’t even talked to him since leaving yesterday, I tap the messages icon on my phone to send him a text. “Hey. Everything okay?”

  Then, I press the power button to turn the screen off and shove the phone back into my pocket. I don’t expect him to answer for a while since he’ll be on his way to work now if he hasn’t called in sick, which he might’ve done after me leaving yesterday; emotional things tend to make him so upset he gets migraines after.

  Only my phone buzzes not long after and I tug it back out to read the reply from Oliver. “No. Not feeling well so at home.”

  Not sure what to say, I keep it simple. “I’m sorry. I hope you feel better soon.”

  “I will when you come back. You know I hate living alone.”

  Yeah, I do, because I’m the same way. That’s basically how we came to live with each other in the first place. From dorms to a place together upon graduation so neither of us was alone and he gladly paid most of the bills for the privilege. So his text makes me feel like a jerk because I’ve no doubt he didn’t get much sleep last night, if at all.

  Not that I did either after my little parting shot at Zach and the understanding he isn’t going to let me stay here with him, which means I will have to go back to living with Oliver because I just can’t afford a place of my own with what I make. Well, unless I want to answer an ad for a roommate and live with a total stranger, which I don’t, because living with someone I have no previous acquaintance with makes me want to barf.

  Hell, just having that thought makes my chest squeeze painfully with anxiety and immense panic.

  Yep. I’m genuinely stuck in a hell of my own making, and I guess I’m lucky that Oliver will let me come back after yesterday. What the hell had I been thinking?

  Even with the way Zach kissed me yesterday in the kitchen and the sex before that, I shouldn’t have been so rash. Ten years ago, I unapologetically and explicitly went against his wishes, and he’s hated my guts since.

  Despite the crazy attraction remaining between us, I can’t fucking blame him for not forgiving me.

  He doesn’t want me here and he most certainly doesn’t want me around his daughter. He told me I needed to leave, and after his daughter had shown up, I understood why without him having to say a word, even as I hoped for the rest of the evening that he would change his mind.

  But then our conversation last night…ugh. The pain on his face, in his words, had truly driven everything home.

  Things might’ve been different. We might’ve had a child. And he can’t imagine a life with his daughter, which means when he looks at me, all he sees is the decision I made when I was too young to realize how much it would forever change everything.

  It didn’t matter that I thought I was doing the right thing at the time; my reasons would never make a difference to him.

  So it had been foolish to come here, to show him how much that little moment in time with him had affected me, which means now I need to extricate myself from this situation. I need to go back to the life I’ve been living because it’s the one I’ve built.

  It isn’t perfect or ideal, but it’s mine.

  Using the app on my phone, I hail a cab to my location and walk over to the door, hoping Zach doesn’t come back into the kitchen before my phone notifies me about the taxi waiting outside.

  I let out a deep breath of relief when he doesn’t, grab the handles of my luggage, and exit out of his door and his life as if I had never been here at all.

  Shutting the door to the apartment behind me, I put my keys on the table nearby, slip out of my heels, and leave them there along with my luggage before heading to the bedroom.

  Oliver doesn’t even stir as I open the door and walk in the room, unzipping my dress to slip out of it, and place it on the chair before turning toward the bed in my bra and underwear.

  He doesn’t startle even when I climb into bed and slide under the blankets. Instead, he merely opens his eyes, smiles while opening his arms, and waits until I’m snuggled in his familiar embrace before murmuring, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

  All I can do is think this is best because, for the last eight years, Oliver has been the only constant in my life, which has to count for more than an angry man with blue eyes and the ability to make me want to have made a different choice.

  It has to since the one thing I don’t need is to feel unhappy with my life again as I used to for so long. My life is what it is because of the things I’ve done and having taken responsibility for those actions meant I had finally found peace after not having it for so long.

  And I can’t let Zach ruin it. Not with his touch, or his memory, or his righteous anger about our destruction at my hands.

  No, co-dependent or not, I will do well to remain in the safety of Oliver’s unexciting but steady love, rather than hold out for something to happen with a man who has yet to forgive me and may never do so, especially when he had barely been civil to me from the moment we faced one another again.

  I remind myself of this while swiping away a traitor tear from my cheek seconds before Oliver gently turns me in his hold and captures my lips with his, taking me back as his without another word said between us on the matter.

  We’ve just finished eating breakfast three days later when Oliver reaches across the table, covers my left hand that once again sports the engagement ring he bought me, and says, “We should finally get married.”

  Laughing softly, I slide my hand out from under his and grab my plate, rising from my seat to take it over to the sink. He follows with his and stands next to me as I wash the dishes, smiling again when I eventually look at him to remark, “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.” After I turn off the water and dry off my hands, he pulls me into his arms and gives me a brief, dry kiss on the lips before murmuring against them, “There’s no good reason not to now, is there?”

  It’s true; there isn’t. I chose to come back, climb into the bed we shared, and accept his ring on my finger once more. He hasn’t asked about what happened with Zach, and I know it’s because he doesn’t find it necessary since I came back to him.

  He’s also been happier than I’ve ever seen him be during our entire relationship. Combine that with the impossible to ignore fact that I haven’t heard from Zach since walking out of his place — even without my phone number, he knows where he can find me — and I’m convinced this decision is right after making a lot of wrong ones.

  Zach saw me, paid me back in his own twisted way for the way I made him feel, and hurt me with his insults on top of it. His actions speak for him — both to his feelings and for not wanting me in his life — and I’m not the type of woman to chase anyone, ever.

  So I return Oliver’s smile, slide my arms up around his neck, and plant a reciprocating kiss on his mouth as I admit, “No, there isn’t. Did you have something in mind?”

  His entire face lights up with joy as his arms tighten around my waist. “This weekend on our sixth anniversary. It’ll be perfect.”

  It won’t be, not really.

  I’ve always imagined a wedding — location unimportant in the big picture — with my father walking me down the aisle after my mother helped me get ready, excited for her only child’s new life along with her future grandchildren, and the chairs on each side of the aisle filled with other family as well as lots of friends.

  An old desire I still wish for yet will never happen because my parents haven’t spoken to me since disinheriting me the day after I turned eighteen. And, once I learned how little real life mirrored the one I grew up in, the few friends I had hadn’t lasted past high school either.

  He knows all of this, but the
fact we won’t have the wedding I’ve dreamt of isn’t his fault, so that’s why I don’t bring it up. He’ll do everything to make our wedding romantic, even if it’s just the two of us and the justice of the peace, and I won’t ruin it by dwelling on everything that will be missing from what should be the happiest moment of my life.

  “I can’t wait,” I finally reply softly, stepping up on my tiptoes to press a slightly warm and longer kiss to his mouth in hopes he doesn’t notice the slight sadness in my voice.

  He doesn’t, ending our embrace a few moments later so we can both finish getting ready for the day, and giving me a glimpse of what the rest of our lives will be like at the same time.

  Predictable, but safe, and exactly what I tell myself I need even if it isn’t true.

  7

  Zachary

  The moment I realized she left my place without saying goodbye, I should’ve gone after her to explain, but I didn’t.

  And now, for the last week, I’ve wanted to kick my own ass for not doing it, except I don’t know where she went. She said she couldn’t stay with her ex-fiancé anymore, and although that doesn’t mean she didn’t go back there, I don’t want to show up and try to explain myself to the man considering what we’d done if she isn’t there.

  And maybe she is. They may have gotten back together, and who am I to show up after making it blatantly clear to her that she couldn’t stay with me?

  So I’ve left it alone because it’s for the best — for both Rose and me — and I’ve taken the fact I haven’t seen her since as confirmation. I don’t know how long she’s lived here, but I have for almost a decade, and the bookstore had been the only time I ran into her in a public place.

  My mother waves at me from her table as Rose and I step into our favorite local food joint, pulling me away from my thoughts about Darcy, and Rose takes off with a squeal toward her grandmother.

  Although I told Darcy my parents wouldn’t let me come home after they sent me to military school, which was true, she hadn’t fucked me over as I said. Well, not really. My parents never stopped speaking to me or guiding me in my life unlike hers. Yes, they’d been angry with me and hadn’t wanted me on such a hard path at a young age, but they always loved me and wanted me to succeed.

  Her choice had devastated them as much as it had me because I had believed with all my heart that we were having a baby, and had told them what was going on so as to not hide anything. They weren’t happy we would have a child in our teens, but would’ve supported us a hundred percent.

  Then, she’d gotten an abortion, and they wanted to prevent another pregnancy from happening, as well as get me away from what they referred to as “the bad influence of that girl,” so they did something about it.

  At the time, their decision hurt because it took me from them, my younger brother and sister, and the place I’d lived all my life. However, after a while, I understand why they made that choice and ended up making a life for myself here. Four years ago, when my younger sister finished high school, they both retired from their jobs and followed her to school out here, where they now live in a house I bought for them thanks to my successful career as an Architect.

  I imagine they are like all parents that love their children and don’t believe the raising ends when they hit adulthood. The difference is that now they give their opinions because I am their son, and that is their right, yet I am free to make my own decision in spite of it, which I usually do.

  They didn’t like Erica, but they dote on Rose, which is what matters to me more than anything else now regarding our relationship.

  Something tells me they will never think any woman is good enough for me and approval had been evident in my mother’s eyes a few weeks ago when I told her dating anyone wasn’t on my radar for the foreseeable future, as all my energy will be on work and raising Rose.

  And it remains true now, even with what happened with Darcy, which I need to forget about before I do something stupid like track her down to ask why she hadn’t waited for me to come back that day before leaving.

  “Darling,” my mother says as I finally reach the table, Rose already sitting beside her and coloring on the paper for kids provided by the restaurant. She hugs me, then pats the table as she sits again. “How’s everything?”

  “Pretty good. Work’s hectic as always.”

  She nods and then lifts a brow with a side glance at Rose. “And with her gone?”

  “She’s fine. Doesn’t even notice.”

  “Good.” She gets the attention of a nearby waiter while smiling at me. “A child needs their mother, but only if that mother is going to take care of them. Otherwise, it’s best she’s gone before she hurts the girl.”

  “Mother.”

  I don’t have to say more than that, even if I partly agree with her, as she heeds the warning in my voice with a sigh. “Fine. You know my feelings on the matter so I won’t speak of it any longer.”

  She knows her thoughts on the matter isn’t what I’m rebuking; it’s her discussing it in front of Rose that I don’t approve of.

  “Thank you.” As the waiter approaches, I reach for the water already sitting on the table and change the topic. “How’s Dad doing?”

  “Oh, you know, he isn’t taking it easy like the doctor said, but when has your father ever listened to anyone’s professional advice in his entire life?”

  We both laugh because the answer is never and then the waiter arrives to take our orders.

  When they’re gone, I take a sip of the water and shake my head. “I’ve told him to take it easy when he calls, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference either.”

  “He’s stubborn, and that’s what I’ve been blessed with my entire life. A stubborn husband who gave me three equally obstinate children.” Her statement is filled with affection, and she winks at me when I laugh because it’s true. “Not that I would have it any other way, of course.”

  No, she wouldn’t, as she can and does give us all a run for our money when it comes to being obstinate.

  Rose smacks her crayon down on the table at that exact moment and crosses her arm over her chest with attitude as she looks at me to declare, “Food!”

  “It’s coming, sweetheart.” My mother picks up her water and turns to Rose, holding the glass up to distract her. “Are you thirsty?”

  She shakes her head yet reaches for the water anyway. After a few sips, she scrunches her nose and turns back to the paper, picking up her crayon again.

  My mother snickers and takes a sip before setting the glass back down. “She reminds me of you at that age. You were always demanding, but it didn’t take much to distract you, no matter how upset you were.”

  “Then I grew up.”

  “Yes, you made up for that as a teen, but you’re doing wonderfully now, and I’m proud of the man you’ve become.”

  Just like that, Darcy is back on my mind.

  I doubt my mother would be pleased with my treatment of her recently no matter how she felt about her back then. As angry as they’d been, I never heard them say anything about Darcy other than referring to her as a bad influence and commenting on how awful her parents were to manipulate her into making the decision she did.

  And even with not wanting her to stay at my house, I should’ve apologized for my behavior at the bookstore and afterward when she showed up at my place. I was — am — an asshole and deserved more than a punch to the stomach at the insults I threw her way.

  She isn’t the same girl from ten years ago just like I’m not the same boy and no matter our past, she deserves better from someone who claimed to love her at one point.

  I don’t say any of this to my mother as our food arrives, making a promise to myself instead to apologize to Darcy the next time I see her if and when it happens because I don’t want to cause either of us any more pain.

  Then, perhaps I can put all my focus on my daughter where it belongs instead of my guilt at being the type of man who would treat another person with such d
isregard no matter how much they’ve hurt me.

  My chance arrives two weeks later while shopping for next week’s groceries.

  Rose is with my parents for the day — they spend every Saturday together — and one of the benefits to that is being able to shop without her howling for things as we walk through the store.

  She’s got a sweet tooth, especially for gummy bears, and I have trouble saying no sometimes to her adorable pout, so it’s better this way.

  Today, for certain, as I round the corner into the aisle containing frozen pizza, and there Darcy stands in front of where the Digiorno’s are located.

  Heading in her direction, she doesn’t realize anyone’s approached until I stop right beside her, and her eyes widen when her focus is jerked away from the boxes to me. Instead of saying something, she shoves one of the pizza’s back into the freezer, tosses the other in her cart, and takes the handle in a tight grip with both hands while dragging her gaze away to stare at where I just came from.

  “Wait,” I say, reaching over to grab her cart before she can walk away, and smile when she acknowledges my action with an icy glare. “I don’t want to bother you. Just need to apologize for the way I treated you when we saw each other again and later for the insults at my house. It wasn’t right, and I’m sorry.”

  She blinks, then laughs — the sound being one I can only describe as decidedly sarcastic — and points at my hand on her cart with another glare until I remove it. “Now you’re sorry? I wanted to know if it was you that day, but you took it further instead of letting me go, bringing all sorts of shit to the surface in the process, and now you want to apologize for it?” She lifts her left hand to shove it through her hair, blows out a harsh breath, and then flicks me off after lowering her arm. “Fuck you, Zach.”

  Two thoughts hit me at once, but the fact she thinks I’m apologizing for having sex with her is quickly pushed aside by the sight of a fucking wedding band nestled next to the engagement ring on her ring finger.